


I'm down on my knees (I'm begging you please)

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming to complain to Lucifer fucking Morningstar, part-time consultant and full-time pain in her ass, about her douche of an ex-husband, well. It’s up there on the list of bad situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm down on my knees (I'm begging you please)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm both excited and scared to start writing for a new pairing (*soft whisper* my babiesssss) so be nice with me on that one, okay?

She isn’t nearly drunk enough for this. Hell, she isn’t drunk at all, because she remembers a little too clearly what happened the last time she downed a bottle of vodka before heading to Lux with nothing but a flannel shirt and her self-pity. Chloe wants a clear head this time, because her anger is already blinding her enough as it is and she doesn’t need alcohol to cloud her mind even more so – she doesn’t want alcohol to make her do something she could regret.

Though, as she punches the elevator’s button for the top floor, she wonders what could make the situation possibly worse than it already is. Coming to complain to Lucifer fucking Morningstar, part-time consultant and full-time pain in her ass, about her douche of an ex-husband, well. It’s up there on the list of bad situations.

She doesn’t stop and asks herself why Lucifer of all people – shrugging it off as ‘he dislikes Dan just as much as you do’ is easier and doesn’t lead to more questions. Because questions mean answers, and Chloe doesn’t want to think about those – she doesn’t want to ponder on her relationship with Lucifer, not when tomorrow she’ll have to explain Trixie why daddy is in prison, why daddy isn’t the hero she thought him to be.

The elevator’s doors open with a ‘ding,’ the warm golden light of the bar counter the only thing keeping the darkness of the room away. The piano shines golden too where it stands proudly in the middle of the room, everything silent but for the echo of music downstairs and the Los Angeles traffic outside the window. Chloe allows herself a moment, just a moment, of peace before she enters the penthouse. Lucifer is in there somewhere – Maze may have glowered at her from across the bar, but she also motioned to the elevator with her chin, no longer one to keep the two partners away. She’s probably tired of trying, knowing her, still not even close to warming up to Chloe.

And, indeed, soon enough Lucifer shows up around a corner – his signature smirk dies on his lips when his eyes meet hers across the room. He might not have heard the news quite yet – the station did a good job of keeping the press at bay for now – but the anguish on her face is so obvious than even he, of all people, won’t play mind games tonight. If that doesn’t say a lot, nothing ever will.

“Detective, are you alright?”

His voice is soft, worried. It’s a new look on him, frown on his brows as he approaches her carefully, the way one would with a wounded animal. She thinks of lying to him at first, defensive walls back up around her heart, but. Isn’t it why she’s here, why she came in the first place? Knowing Lucifer would never judge her but instead would indulge in some bad-mouthing with her, perhaps an angry rant or two? So she thinks of lying to him, but barely manages to hold that thought for more than a second.

“Dan’s in prison.”

Lucifer’s mouth opens in a theatrical way, the ‘o’ of it so big Chloe can almost see down his throat from where she stands. But there is none of the usual drama and over-the-topness in his reaction. Instead, he seems deeply surprised, and that turns into something else in the blink of the eye, something darker and more lethal.

“What did the _douche_ do this time?”

The nickname always sounded like a curse in his mouth, but now it is like venom on his tongue, the hatred so obvious, running deep. Chloe reminds herself this is exactly why she is here, why she needs him. She needs to let it all out, her frustration and her anger, and there is something almost, weirdly, comforting about her own emotions being mirrored by Lucifer.

“The Palmetto case, that – it was him all along. He shot Malcolm, he –”

Her nails bite into the palms of her hands, enough to be painful and enough for Chloe to look down at them. She didn’t draw blood, but white crescent-shaped marks are visible on the tender skin there. She breathes out through the mouth, low and deep, but it does nothing to calm her anger as it keeps boiling down inside her veins. She wants to scream, yells, break something – anything to let it all out, anything to feel better. Can she ever feel better?

She startles at the touch of Lucifer’s hand against her elbow – startles hard enough that he takes a step back, as if afraid of her reaction. Or as if willing to give her some space, maybe, she doesn’t even know anymore. She stopped knowing things the moment the captain told her the news, the moment her world was flipped upside down and she started questioning everything.

She runs a hand through her hair, shakes her head with a self-deprecating laugh. “I wanted to give him another chance, I – I thought he’d changed, you know. Turns out cheating on me _wasn’t_ the worse of it. And he kept _lying_ about it. Called me _crazy_.” Her laugh is a little louder this time – a little more on the edge of hysterical, too. “I’m just so tired of people lying to me.”

When she looks up to Lucifer again, he’s frowning, his jaw clenching so hard she can see the muscle pulsing on his cheek. His every muscle is taut, and Chloe remembers that one day he grabbed a man by the neck and threw him into a window – she remembers his wrath, the black of his eyes, the downright curve of his lips. She remembers, and wonders what type of self-control is stopping him from storming inside the station and killing Dan with his bare hands.

(Would she even stop him?)

(Yet another question she doesn’t want to answer.)

“That _bastard_ of a –”

Lucifer doesn’t have time to finish his insult, stopping in the middle of his sentence when Chloe grabs his hand. He looks down, frown letting place to a look of surprise – not that she can’t blame him – before he looks up at her again. His fingers are warm, flexing to entangle with hers and to squeeze a little. The gesture is simple yet so foreign coming from Lucifer. Chloe has never known him to be gentle, let alone comforting – it is unfamiliar yet it suits him, in a weird way.

Which is probably why she takes a step forward and closer to him, head tilting so she can look at him in the eyes. Which is probably why her next words are soft, almost pleading.

“I know what Doctor Martin says, about your… But not tonight, okay. Can you just – please, tell me your real name, not – not that Lucifer thing. No lies tonight.”

A frown creases Lucifer’s brows again as he leans his head away from her. The confused ‘huh’ out of his mouth is soft, yet audible in the silence of his penthouse, and Chloe frowns in reply. She has no time for his games, let alone his fantasies, even if she remembers Doctor Martin’s lecture about disillusions and the importance of playing along. She doesn’t want to play tonight, doesn’t want to indulge in his stories.

“I never lied to you,” Lucifer replies.

Chloe sighs, loudly, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Please, don’t…”

“You mortals,” he chuckles, the sound cold and almost threatening. “Even when the truth is dangling in front of your nose, you still refuse to believe. It’s a wonder how you still manage to believe in _him_ when–”

“You’re not–”

“The Devil?” His laugh is harsh. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, detective, but I am. And if you weren’t too busy trying to find a logical explanation to my ‘tricks,’ you would see it the way it is. The way it has always been.”

He stares her down, never looking away, barely blinking at all. Even if she wanted, Chloe wouldn’t be able to look away, too mesmerized by the intensity of his eyes and the fire burning in the brown of his irises. He isn’t begging her to see the truth, but there is a pleading edge to his expression, like he’s asking of her to open her eyes and understand. It is madness of course – she went to bible study, and even to church on Sundays when her mother felt guilty about something, but. Even if God, and angels, and the fucking devil exist, they wouldn’t take human form. They wouldn’t play pretend in the middle of Los Angeles, wouldn’t have fun being a would-be cop and helping with cases. Nothing about this story makes sense, not one detail holds up.

“This is madness.”

“This is the _truth_.”

He yells the last word, and she screams. She jumps away from him too, for his eyes turned red when the word was out of his mouth, burning like the fires of – of Hell itself. She presses both her hands to her mouth, swallowing down another yelp when the eyes don’t turn back to brown, when he still stares down at her and won’t look away.

She remembers the glimpse of it in the mirror, how she couldn’t compute what she was seeing with what she knows of the world. It was easy to dismiss it – a trick of the light, her own exhaustion, her mind making things up. It’s impossible now, long seconds ticking by and Lucifer’s eyes still red and deadly.

Her mind rebels against the truth of it, of course, even as she takes a tentative step forwards, even as curiosity kicks in. She raises a hand, before it falls back against her side, word dying on her tongue when she opens her mouth. Some part of her brain reminds her that now would be the perfect time to freak out, scream, run away even; the other part of her brain, the one who still can’t compute that her ex-husband is a murderer, elects not to react at all.

It all makes sense, all things considered. Perhaps she will react later, try to deny it, to explain it but – for now, with everything she knows of Lucifer, with everything he told her, it makes sense. It also gives a whole different meaning to the scars on his back, her fingers tingling at the memory of the scorched skin under her fingertips.

Lucifer’s eyes go back to brown, and Chloe lets out a sigh.

“Chloe, are you alright?”

Somehow, she registers that it is the first time he’s calling her by her first name – and that she wouldn’t mind hearing it again. Somehow, she also registers that it’s not just concern for her that laces his question. No, there is wariness too and something Chloe would have never expected Lucifer to show – something that sounds a lot like fear of rejection. And, well, that too she puts in the ‘to deal with later’ box, because of obvious reasons.

“You’re – you – how – is it just the eyes?” The question makes her cringe, but still she adds, “And the wings? Or is it…”

Her next question ends in yet another yelp, yet another startle, when Lucifer’s entire body turns red, only bones and bruising skin, hollowed eyes. Chloe’s mouth and eyes are wide opened at the sight, her words tumbling out of her mouth in a mess of sounds. She closes it, only to swallow loudly.

Lucifer has the decency to switch back to his normal (for her) face, and Chloe blinks rapidly, twice – his eyes stay red, though, and she has the feeling that he is testing her, somehow. She moves closer, until his hot breaths tickles against her face, until she can raise a hand and, delicately, run her knuckles against his bearded cheek. His shiver takes her by surprise, breath catching in her throat. He leans into her touch, eyes half-closing.

“I have to say, detective, you’re taking it better than I would have expected.”

“You were saying the truth all along,” she marvels.

He smiles then – not a smirk or a shit-eating grin, but a real smile that show a little bit of teeth and has dimples poking in his cheeks. It occurs to her that she’s never seen him smile before, and that she would like to see it again in the future, more than once. It’s a scary thought to have, one she shouldn’t be having right now.

“I would never lie to you,” he replies in a soft voice, hand rising to grab hers.

He doesn’t let go of her fingers even as he pushes her hand away from his face, even as his eyes go back to their usual brown. Instead, he uses his hold on her to pull her toward the couch, the one where she made a fool of herself only weeks before. (Was it only weeks? It seems like an eternity has passed already.) She sits next to him, worrying her lip a little.

“But enough about me,” he goes on with a motion of his wrist, voice going back to its cocky and sarcastic self. “Now tell me all about His Doucheness, so I can find a fitting punishment to his crimes.”

Any other day, Chloe would have fought him about it – you can’t be judge, jury and executioner, not on her watch – but the shock of new revelations is still having its toll on her, and her anger is coming back with a fury. Maybe Dan deserves it, anyway. She’s not in her right mind, but this line of thought makes sense, right now.

So Chloe settles a little more comfortably on the sofa, and tells the devil all there is to know about another man’s sins.


End file.
